![moons of madness ea sick moons of madness ea sick](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/RImUxUhSUsI/maxresdefault.jpg)
Approach them with shame, and turn away in reverence.
![moons of madness ea sick moons of madness ea sick](https://www.godisageek.com/wp-content/uploads/Moons-of-Madness.jpg)
And the moons you might see will tsk-tsk such pride. Grab yourself a vodka and grapefruit and lounge in your kimono, feeling satisfied, but never, never proud-pride is tacky. And remember to bless your mess with conviction. As if time actually exists-we all know the Uyghur people invented this to propel their circuses forward in storm and wind through the Han Chinese official policies! Obviously makes sense! I, for example, tape my mouth when it's time to, after I've worn out the words and begin getting eye rollings from the rich wasps at my whiskey (ahem, tea) hour. She won't diss you for what you need to say.
#Moons of madness ea sick full#
Join me this full moon in blessing something before you pass out drunk face-down on a rug.I mean, before you kiss your loved ones before going to bed.and consider speaking to that real bitch of a moon what you need to say. For example, SURPRISE stirfry! What's in it? Everything! I might be missing somewhere, I might be a volatile, hostile, salty cunt, but I do it with a style and an abandon. I welcome my readers to take a special piece of jewelry or stone this full moon, dip in water, and put under the full moon. And to see glittery things when one is drinking. There is no undoing the importance of ritual, to be able to see what must barrel forward, and what will become silent. In one hand is a selenite orb, and in the other, a wand, and behind my head, a sword. Which is to say, what I could give a fuck about, and what I hold with me during my most sacred sleeps of two moons (besides the martini glasses): selenite stones. But the truth is that on the full moon I try to see two moons, and I lay out my rocks and jewelry to be blessed under the light that shows what's really happening.
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The reality is that my life is about My Time, so if someone comes down on me, my bodyguard, Boleslaw, will take care of it. Oh, how I digress when the moon is filling to the brim, and how I think about the opportunities for expression and silence. Or maybe we were scientists, researching the wretched. Later that night I was called and told that this was my father, a well-known senator, who was taking his Ducati out for a ride in the wild wind on the way to an AA meeting (his own pretend working class attempt to expand his horizons). It was hard to keep up this working class disguise what with my french manicures and perfectly tweezed eyebrows, and eventually upon one afternoon lunch break of leaving my fake job at Tower Records, I drove past an accident where a mangled motorcycle lay on the road next to a Volvo, and all the fluids, blood and guts and car leak, were mingling in the road. He lost his virginity under a full moon next to those tanks, the disease close to pleasure (seems fitting, I guess). When I went to meet his family in their trailer, in the shade of two one story tall pesticide tanks, I learned that they all had cancer and most were on their death beds. Lastly, I dated an older man named Raul who lived in the southern California fields of Somis, and worked at the Pic-N-Save. Another student who had a head shaped like a hairless football had been running through the fields of lettuce near our homes when a plane dropped pesticide on him and he was slowly dying, in pain and incredibly angry. So I pretended my way through, ONLY ACTING THAT I HAD REAL PROBLEMS, and I remember for the whole four months one student in a wheelchair would never speak, even when addressed directly with a question or support. Because this lower college experience is one I know nothing about as a member of the waxed upper echelon of society, I accidentally signed up for a motivational class meant for students with mental and physical disabilities. When my father was killed, I was a 16-year-old righteous woman, wanting to see what the lower classes did, so I started my mornings at 5 am with a workout, went to a community college at 7 am (I know, it was like a satire of knowing), and started my work at a record store at 3 pm.